Alastair Dubh MacIver,tinker of no fixed abode, was a peaceable, quiet man - he would tell you so himself - quite the quietest of his family. He was possessed of no property, save his tent, his pony, his fiddle and a picturesque tradition, as well as a certain aptitude with the snare and the gaff and the rifle, and a way with horses and women.
But he had his pride, pride enough for any man, property or none. How he fought for and cherished it, and had it stolen from him in the end - and by a woman , of course, - is set forth in this tale of the Western Highlands of Scotland.